It doesn't annoy me; it only disturbs me. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out. So he decided to stay. Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. As the palm bears nuts perennially, there were always coconut-laden proas making the beach. The first of these, whom he addressed as Mr. Earles with composure into the inner room. Her head was downcast as she studied the museum-like exhibits of various dusts on the resilient tile flooring. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping.
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